IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM — though it might be more accurate to call it a “laundry nook,” since it is a corner of a corner of the cellar, a dark, dolorous place that some employees, back when we used to have some employees, refused to visit on the grounds that it was “spooky” . . .

ALBERTINE WAS STILL IN BED when I returned to the bedroom after writing. She had the covers pulled up to her chin, and she was lying on her back staring at the ceiling. . . .

WHEN I FINISHED READING, I remained standing in my reading spot beside the fire, and I said, “If I may be permitted to say something slightly sentimental — a great sin in our cynical times — I would like to thank all of you for being here and listening to me, . . .

THAT EVENING, I read episode twenty-nine of Dead Air, “Bedroom Suits,” to an audience that was not, even though water was still being rationed and we had no working washing machines, noticeably more odoriferous than any of the audiences for any of my previous readings.

“DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING about this ‘Manuel Pedrera’?” I asked Albertine. “Nothing much,” she said. “He’s a cute little guy, though.” “I think he’s a phony of some kind,” I said. . . .

“ISN’T IT FUNNY the way we don’t sound like ourselves when we hear ourselves on a tape recorder — not to ourselves, I mean?” asked Nancy. . . .

ON MONDAY NIGHTS, we don’t get much of a dinner-and-drinks crowd, and on this Monday night we didn’t get any dinner-and-drinks crowd at all. . . .

“LANA CALLED,” Albertine said, “and she thinks that we just might hook the water-sports consortium if we lower the asking price.” “How much?” “She doesn’t know, and she wouldn’t guess, but she said there is only one way to increase our chances of selling, and that is to lower the price.” . . .

ROCKWELL KINGMAN was steamed. He was having a very bad day. He had missed a target. That was not a good thing. It was the kind of thing that could ruin a career. . . .

THE RECEPTION WAS rowdy. The tip of the consortium was plastered. They kept shouting “Mosh! Mosh!” and trying to persuade Lana to get up onto the bar and jump onto their outstretched hands, and when she refused they tried Albertine, and when she refused they tried Cutie, and when Tony T threatened to rearrange their faces, they feigned terror and began shouting “Encore!” in my direction. . . .